


The Forsaken Heirs

by Voyna



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Manipulation, Psychological Drama, Romance, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 18:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voyna/pseuds/Voyna
Summary: [AU] A most convenient marriage. An attempt to save her life. An attempt to save his bloodline. Little did Uchiha Sasuke know that by marrying the Hyuuga leader's eldest daughter, he would be pulled into a game of cat and mouse that would exacerbate his basest ambitions. Little did Hyuuga Hinata know that by marrying the last Uchiha, she would bring a potential enemy to her bed and have no other ally to go to battle with than a treacherous servant. A tentative love against a background of blood and fire.





	The Forsaken Heirs

**Author's Note:**

> I believe I started writing the first draft to this fic back in 2013. It ran for 4 chapters. Then in 2014, I did a rewrite that ran for 9 chapter on Fanfiction.net. And here comes the second rewrite. I am afraid to bring it to Fanfiction.net for so many reasons. First, I promised I would finish the fic. And I still intend to do so. However, life changed between 2014 and 2018. I changed too. And so did my writing style. I loved this fic, I still love it. But I am not infatuated with it anymore. You know how authors can be so proud of their own poop. Well, I realized in the last four years that poop, whether produced by me or by someone else, still smelled of poop. I am trying to give this fic a more defined purpose. Second, if I put this on Fanfiction.net, I will get lynched. And I will have deserved it too. There is nothing worse than playing with other people's patience. I hated it back when I used to devour fics.  
> Well, here is the new, rewritten, not-as-fun, disappointing-most-probably TFH. I hope that it will give those who still can't let go of the SasuHina fandom (like me) a bit of solace.  
> By the way, all the characters mentioned in this chapter really do exist, either in the anime or the manga.

“He’ll have her at last.”

The noise of sunflower seed shells hitting a copper basin. 

“You think Hoheto-sama is out?”

A hand passing through silky, brown hair.

Again the telltale clinking of metal. A tall, well-built girl, dressed in a neat yukata, was leaning against a wooden wall. Extracting dried sunflower seeds from a paper cornet. She shot a disbelieving, and slightly scornful, look at the plump, little beauty seated at her feet. Servants enjoying a moment’s repose.

The brown-haired girl didn’t particularly relish having to look up at her companion. Or having wet seed shells hitting her neck every time the copper basin was missed. But that expression of superiority plastered all over the other girl’s face was the most disagreeable. Well, why not Hoheto-sama’s son?!

“Don’t be stupid! Hoheto-sama isn’t that desperate. He must be aiming for Hanabi-hime, I daresay. The boy and she are almost of the same age.”

Now it was the other girl’s turn to make a show of arrogance. An exaggerated snort did very well.

“And if Hoheto-sama did marry his youngest to Hanabi-hime, he would be well-served for his stupidity. A fine thing it would be, giving his son away as a hostage wife to Hiashi-sama! Well, Hiashi-sama would be quite happy. It would solve a few of his problems at once. But if the _elder_ was married into his family, now _that_ would be a great thing for Hoheto-sama. His son would have high enough of a position, higher than his elder brothers. And Hoheto-sama would profit greatly.”

How proud the unimportant, little servant was of what she believed to be her great clear-sightedness. It didn’t earn her much praise.

“I’d be damned”, the other girl inelegantly started, a sunflower seed poking from between her lips, “I’d be damned if Hoheto-sama took _that_ for a daughter-in-law!”

And she pointed a discrete pinky finger in the direction of the offending object, or rather, subject of conversation.

An external observer, who had never heard of Hoheto-sama’s puritanism or met his thirteen-year old son, would have thought the boy could do much worse than be leg-shackled to the lady by the pond. But then, what could the chances of success be against the man seated by the object of contention. And holding onto the lady’s wrist in a very proprietary manner.

Wallowing in his triumph, he let his eyes run down her silhouette. Had he not known her better, he might have thought, as they all did, that she had gone crazy. But he knew her, had known her for years. To hell with it all. Hiashi-sama’s eldest was everything but crazy. In fact, she was as cunning as a fox. When she was forced to be. Deserted as she was since the end of the war, she had had no other choice but to show some spunk. Had she not, she would have be eaten alive by the Hyūga clan.

Iroha was not a man to be interested in women. There wasn’t much he could have done with them. And thus, if they were not to be trained into a semblance of a warrior, he could not be bothered. But the one in front of him, the only one he had ever desired, would be of supreme use. Hence, his desiring her in the first place. And that one servant had been right, he would have her at last.

The thin lips of his wide mouth stretched into a most-satisfied smile, one that made him flash his teeth. Long sharp teeth. It was said men with such teeth lived a long life. Much longer than the woman in front of him would. He needed to get her before she was found dead on her cot, with her throat slit. Hell, he promised to do the dirty himself once the papers were signed. That is all one could expect from a wedding night with him.

“By all means, my lady, go on with this show. The more you do, the better my chances. By now, Hoheto must have given up and you carried your point.”

She did not lift her head. A shamisen lied like a dead body on her uncovered knees. Letting Iroha abuse her wrist as he deemed good, she had no care for the misunderstandings that might arise at them being in each other’s company. Her whole attention was focused on Hanabi’s pet carps. Their silk-like tails forming whirlpools as her free hand slowly caressed their backs.

She knew Iroha, as Iroha knew her. He had been instrumental to her. And now, he wished her to be instrumental to him. Just that Konoha’s Byakugan-hime wasn’t known to repay in kind. You could have asked Hyūga Neji about it. If he hadn’t been dead, that is.

Iroha let his eyes lazily trail up her well-exposed cleavage. He didn’t feel anything, not even a stir. Admiring what was so ostensibly offered did nothing to him. In fact, the knowledge that the display mortified her had the opposite effect. Living among the never-do-well, drinking, eating and sleeping with his men had not stripped him of his very handicapping bowels of mercy. It took all his self-control not to slip the haori from his shoulders and throw it over hers. But that would have been a show of weakness and one she would have taken advantage of.

The man who would have willingly slit her throat was also the man who would have done much for her, for any woman, to be spared undue shame. Chivalry was not yet dead. And it was to be found in the most unlikely places.

For a split of an instant, his eyes stopped at the base of her neck. Where frantic palpitations displaced the pale skin of her throat. She was afraid. She had more reasons than anyone in the clan to be frightened. And the devil knew the Hyūga had a way to send shivers down anyone’s back. Let alone its forsaken heirs’.

Iroha would not be softened. He needed her. He wanted her. He would have her. Or rather, he would have her title, he would have her position, he would have her land and her money. He would have that small tag bearing his name in her family registry. And if needed, once he got all that, he would go to hell alongside her. He was not a cruel man and his own life was of no consequence to him. It was a sacrifice he had been making daily ever since his lord and master had seen him fit to serve. But he would not die as a historical inconsistency. He would not let his name slip into oblivion.

His grasp on her wrist tightened. Her fingers twitched. A reflex she would have preferred to contain. And then his eyes met hers. His were pale. So were hers. He looked at her critically. And she took the critique without batting an eye. She was a beauty. But a boring beauty. Her face was as flat as any Hyūga’s. Her eyebrows were fine and downy, but almost inexistent. Her cousins drew theirs. She did not have the desire to imitate them. Her eyes were big and her mouth small.

Her beauty was standard. The beauty of women with regular features. You could see her in the streets, register her face and pass by without turning around. Yes, her eyes were big. Yes, they shone with a soft, tender light. But there was no passion in them. Her long, dark lashes heavily falling over them gave her a sleepy expression. Sleepy beauties were as exciting as dead fish. Her mouth was small and her lips were rosy and full. And expressionless. Her face might have been flat, but her nose was high-bridged and fine. And her white skin was so thin, so very thin, that one could see the blood flowing through her veins. Not even the swastika on her forehead, visible sign of her downfall, could do much to mar that skin. But those details did little to make her worth remembering.

It was the thick, black hair and the well-formed, womanly figure that made her father’s subordinates call her a _devilish fine female_.

To some extent, it would was a shame to have her married off to the likes of Iroha. But since it was not expected that she would live to bear children, it didn’t make much of a difference who it was she was given to. And since Hoheto was of noble blood, he boasted more riches than the leading family. Every son of his owned more land than she brought with her as dowry. The only thing his youngest lacked was a title, granted. But Hoheto just had to buy one for him. Iroha on the other hand had nothing, besides a good house, inherited from a compassionate guardian. And besides Hiashi-sama’s respect. And truth be said, if he had to choose but one advantage of marrying the lady in question, he would forego the land, he would forego the money, he would forego the title. Being known as his leader’s son-in-law would be enough for him. However, why not take it all, if all was offered.

“Come now. Submit to your fate. You need to be taken out of here. You can’t go and marry any Bunke, no one in your household will permit that. And Neji is dead.”

She tore her wrist out of his grasp with such violence that he was left astonished for a split of an instant. The words had cut deep, so her eyes told him, wide and reproachful. But though he had bowels of mercy, he was not one to be fazed by guilt.

Those words had not been spoken in spite. But Iroha was a logic man of simple and clear ideas. That she would have been married to her cousin as soon as sealed was a fact. Basically, her birth and sealing made her the leader of the Bunke, a position her cousin had been born to. Their marriage would have strengthened his claim and though she would have been the nominal leader, he would have governed. She still was the leader by birth and sealing. But, as said, she was as cunning as a fox. To prolong her life by a few years, she had left the position under her grandfather’s regency. She might have had her head flying much earlier otherwise. A clan might tolerate what reeked of dissidence, but giving a dissident executive power would be too rich.

“Who knows, _they_ might even let you be, if you marry me. Nobody can expect me to impregnate you. You won’t give birth to potential heirs that could question your sister’s legacy.”

She turned her eyes away from him. A shame. She had little to no natural aggressiveness, but years back he had been able to bring it out of her in some instances. He wished he could still do it. She could be a hasty little thing and he would know how to take advantage of it. Living for three years solely among Hyūga had made her too careful for Iroha’s liking.

“Iroha-s-san…”

A voice like bells chiming. But with that distinctive stutter that made him clench his jaw. It annoyed him beyond anything in the world. She would not forgive the reference to Hyūga Neji easily and would get revenge where revenge could be gotten.

“Iroha-s-san, if I could give you what you desire, I w-would do so.”

Then do it.

“But, everything here–”

Her abused hand shot out and swept over the air, drawing Iroha’s attention to everything around him. The central garden, the high walls of the leading family’s mansion surrounding it, the delicate shōji opening and closing as servants rushed from one side to the other.

“– is Hanabi’s. I c-cannot rob my sister of what is hers by l-law.”

She had been born to be a sister rather than anything else. And she would rather leave everything to an already rich sister than give it to the poor. Not because of hardness of heart, but simply because she considered that splitting the inheritance would be depriving her own sister of what should have been hers by law and hereditary right.

Land and money would give more consequence to Hanabi, and the influence of consequence was not to be underestimated. Consequence and power marched hand in hand, so she had noticed. And she would see Hanabi glorified, respected and obeyed. She had sworn to herself it would be so.   

Seated as he was on the rocks of Hanabi’s pond, Iroha leaned in. He was desperate. He was crazed with being so close to what he held dearer than his own life. He would be damned if he let a spoiled hime stand on his path.

“What is it that you want? Your life I cannot save. But marry me, leave what is _yours_ , not what you consider your sister’s, to those who are _mine_ , and I promise you won’t go to hell by your lonesome self.”

He spoke so coldly of what others tried to hush. He saw as clear as she did. There was no life for her among the Hyūga. Two sisters of which one had been heiress and the other was heiress could never coexist in a family such as theirs. It could have been argued that the elder was sealed and permanently removed from any claim to supreme power. But mothers did not transmit the curse on their foreheads. A Sōke man was all it took for her offspring to have a good shot at overthrowing the cousins they would have on their aunt’s side. Such a scheme was not beyond Hoheto.    

Iroha might not have been able to sire children, but then, there was the fact that supreme power was not the only power to be desired. She could lead the Bunke and he would be a man to force her to demand her birthright for the benefit of his own family. Her riches and land he wanted, but could go without. Her birth was what was most precious about her.

Either way, it would not be acceptable to her grandfather. Or to … Tokuma.

Iroha’s pale eyes were mesmerizing. They shone like a violent blizzard. She could almost see ice crystals flying through them. He had been good to her when others had been merciless. He had seen in her what her own father had not. She was losing hope. The sealing had won her a few years, her refusing to step into the shoes of Bunke leader had earned her some more clemency. She had hoped it would have been enough a show of subordination. And maybe to her grandfather, it would have been enough.

But not to him … not to Tokuma. A shiver ran down her spine. She closed her eyes, scrunched them shut. Iroha interpreted the sign wrongly. Had he known he had never been further from winning her, he would have exploded the old willow behind her back. And that was saying much, taking into account his chakra reserves were mediocre at best. She licked her lips nervously as she opened her eyes.

Iroha was so close she could feel his warm breath caressing the bridge of her nose. Compassion, that is what he demanded. She could not swear her loyalty to her sister with her grandfather’s sword threatening to cut her head every night. The only thing she could do was bequeath what she had to Iroha.

“I ask for your benevolence, my lady. Marry me and save at least the lives of a few, if you cannot save your own.”

It was not her voice that responded. Hers could never be as sarcastic. Or as deep.

“Iroha- _sama_ …”

So much mockery and so little deference. Could the impudent wretch be hanged.

“Iroha-sama, forgive my interrupting this … most sentimental moment, but Hinata-hime is being called.”

The man who had appeared behind her back in a grey mist had bent over her shoulder to utter those words. Thus, here they were, Iroha and Kō, staring deeply into each other’s eyes. Their noses almost touching.

“And here comes the challenger”, one of the forgotten servant girls muttered, too far away to be heard.

Hyūga Kō. A legend for all the wrong reasons. The faithful hound at his mistress’s feet. So much ado about someone as plain. The servants couldn’t understand it. In the big scheme of things he had never been any better than themselves. Now, after his disgrace, he was even less. The question remained to know why he was even tolerated at their mansion, let alone why he had been made Hiashi-sama’s valet.

This same Kō sneaked a hand around the lady, grabbed onto the shamisen on her knees and carelessly shoved it under Iroha’s nose. No other choice but to take the thing.

“I’d give you the beating of your life, if we weren’t where we are”, Iroha snapped, the wide smile on his lips belying the threat.

“I am at your disposition, Iroha-sama … as soon as Hiashi-sama can spare me. Hinata-hime.”

At the mention of her name, she stood up, straightening her spine. She was taller than the average woman and the man who had taken place behind her was barely of average height. They could almost stare into each other’s eyes without her needing to lift her head. However, her female height was the main reason she could not be taken seriously as a leader, though her sister promised to face the same fate, she who was absolutely miniscule. When a woman wanted to lead, she had to stand taller than most men. It had to do with domination. Either taller, either more aggressive, her pick. She was neither.

As she turned around, she lifted her eyes to take a serious look at him. And gave him a good opportunity to examine her in turn. He saw the line between her brows, the downward curve of her lips. The doubt in her eyes.

Kō was truly tempted to take up Iroha’s offer. Though he would have been the one giving the beating. If only she hadn’t grown. If only his Hinata still was the same five-year old crying for her mother. So that he could take her in his arms without fear of reprehension, without fear for her virtue. So that he could extend his hands, cup her face, feel her soft skin under his calloused fingers and protect her.

But he could not. He could only look at the fear, at the pain, at the desperation. And keep silent. He could not save her, he never could.

As Hyūga Hinata observed a line similar to hers form between her loyal servant’s brows, hers smoothed out. The feeling of knowing someone grieved with her, someone felt the same fear coursing through his veins, was calming. Loneliness was what scared her the most. But one could never be lonely when they had Kō to suffer for them. One could almost serenely face death and forget what was being left behind.

Without as much as a look for Iroha, Hinata slipped her small hand around Kō’s forearm. He closed his eyes for a split of an instant. Just to remember the pressure of her fingers through the rough fabric of his yukata. He did not look down at her. He did not comment on the way her clothes opened around her legs. Carelessly. How they hung from her shoulders. Gracelessly. He knew what she was trying to achieve. Just as much as he knew that what worked on Hoheto would but amuse Iroha.

The thought made him turn his head and throw one warning glance at the man they left behind and who had in the meantime stood up. Their eyes met. The lean servant and the broad-shouldered, long-haired general. There was no animosity in Iroha’s stance. On the contrary, the smile had not left him. In a movement of mock apology, he simply shrugged his shoulders. Kō’s scowl deepened. What was a game of selfish desire to Iroha was a question of life and death to Kō.

**x.x.x**

It was like entering a secret wonderland. She loved when her sister was away. She could give free reign to her curiosity then. Open all the delicate porcelain pots neatly arranged on the vanity. Sample the creams they contained. Smell the delicate perfumes, made specifically for her sister. Try them on. Look at herself in the vanity mirror and wonder. Wonder how her sister could be so beautiful, at least in her eyes. And how she could be so insignificant.

But then, warriors were not meant to be beautiful. And all the vials, the porcelain, the multitude of brushes, all of that was not meant for the likes of her. She was meant to lead. And one led better in austerity than in opulence. So at least believed her father. But Hanabi, at fifteen, had all the vanity of a teenage girl. She liked colorful kimono with extravagant patterns. She loved to draw attention to her ordinary, bleak brown hair by a profusion of ribbons. Her sister bewailed her lack of natural taste. And, when she could get her hands on Hanabi, made sure to straighten what straightened could be.

When the shōji soundlessly slid open, Hanabi was caught red-handed, a streak of cream on her cheek. And Hinata walked into her alcove, while Hanabi desperately tried to close all the pots she had opened. Of course, Hinata had to be followed by none other than _him_. How aggravating.

One thing all Hyūga shared was that capacity to blush whenever they should not. And Hanabi was no different. Having Kō’s hard eyes resting on her as if she were a repugnant nuisance was a horrible experience. Having him catching her childishly playing with Hinata’s lotions and perfumes was worse. So deeply mortifying she wondered she didn’t combust on the spot. But Hinata broke the charm rapidly, making everything worse.

“Oh, H-Hanabi, love. That color doesn’t suit you at all.”

The offending color was that of Hanabi’s yukata. What was wrong with orange?! Hanabi just turned her head to the other side, cursing silently at her getting caught so easily by the likes of the two of them. It sucked, being born in a family of deadly shinobi. You always got snuck up on.

“My lady”, a deep, calm voice started.

Hanabi did not turn her head to look, though she would have killed to be able to observe. There was this strange tension, this type of restraint between Hinata and the servant. Something Hanabi could not understand. She had her Natsu and they were as close as could be. Though Natsu liked to play the restraint card from time to time, mostly to be kissed and hugged out of her sulks by Hanabi. Natsu was her old, disagreeable thing that she loved more than anything. But Kō was not Hinata’s old, disagreeable thing. There was something between them that made Hanabi’s heart beat faster, her blood run quicker and her spine straighten as if an electric shock had passed through it.

“My lady, the lord requests your presence this evening and demands whether the indulgence of some music would be granted him.”

It was not truly a request, but rather an order. What her father deigned to ask, no one had the courage to refuse. And this included Hinata. Whether she was in a mood to entertain him was unimportant. And since Kō had obviously left her shamisen with Iroha, she assumed her father had not suddenly discovered a taste for popular music. The koto it would be.

As Kō ceremoniously turned on his heels, he shot Hanabi’s throat one last glance. Making her shiver ever so slightly. Oh, she knew he wanted to snap her neck in two. That servant, though his relationship with her sister was most interesting, had always made Hanabi feel threatened. And yet, she respected him. He had protected Hinata in ways Hanabi could not have. He had been kind to Hinata when Hanabi’s kindness would have earned her only pain. Hanabi could not hate him for hating her.

Once left alone with her younger sister, Hinata softly abandoned her wooden geta and stepped onto the tatami of her room. Hanabi sulked. And refused to turn her head as her elder placed herself by her side. Delicately caressing the nape of Hanabi’s neck, Hinata’s fingers slithered towards her chin and turned her sister’s face towards her. Though her eyes were always soft, there was a particular gleam when she looked at Hanabi. And Hanabi wallowed in it, lapped it up. Like a kitten. It took all her self-restraint not to bury her head into Hinata’s lap. She wished, she wished more than anything, that she could give free reign to her emotions.

Whereas Hinata was naturally dignified and her emotions unwavering, stable and strong, Hanabi was buoyant, her emotions fiery passions, tsunami that engulfed everything on their path. But fickle and fizzling quickly. Or so they would have been had she not been raised by the iron fist of a father. A father who would have given much if the eldest had been as strong as the youngest and the youngest as distinguished as the eldest. And even more if any of the two had been a son!

So there was Hanabi, left with only her eyes to express all the animal love she felt for this sister who had always been most magnificent to her. Even when she lost against her, Hanabi. Even when she lost against Neji. Even when she lost against the world. Only very special people could sustain so many humiliations and not lose their shine in the eyes of a younger sibling. That, and Hanabi had no one else to rely on. No other choice but to idolize who was kind to her. It was a question of keeping her sanity. Humans needed love as much as guidance to flourish. Exactly what their family lacked. You took it where it was to be found. And Hanabi had found a very reliable source of it in her older sister.

What also was a valuable talent in an elder was rubbing a younger sister’s cheek mercilessly without getting bitten. That too, Hinata had. Hanabi did her best to escape the merciless thumb that swiftly got rid of the offending cream on her cheek, leaving an angry red mark in its stead. Shooting a dirty look at Hinata, she spoke in a spoiled child’s voice.

“Well, I think it excessively pretty!”

What? Hinata lifted two surprised brows at her sister, having already forgotten what she had told her. That only made Hanabi huff impatiently.

“My yukata. I find it just as it ought to be.”

All the worry Hinata felt at the idea of Hanabi fending for herself amidst the wilderness that was the Hyūga clan dissipated in thin air. Hanabi’s defiant expression, with that little upturned nose high in the air made a smile, a large, genuine, smile spread over Hinata’s whole face. It was everything but the shy, uncomfortable grimace she reserved for outsiders and that had become her trademark. Rather, it was an expression only Hanabi ever saw.

“Hanabi-chan, if I didn’t think f-father would accuse me of trying to burn the house to the ground, t-that thing you are wearing would be a heap of ashes by now.”

It was sisterly banter. Something deeply intimate. Something Hanabi knew how to appreciate. She saw the treatment Hinata reserved for others. It was kind, but generic. She did have different expressions for different people. Different voice intonations depending on her interlocutor. But Hinata never joked. If she could maintain all relationships by exerting herself as little as possible communication-wise, Hinata did so. She only ever exchanged with Hanabi. And that is how the younger sister liked it.

“Oh, chichi-ue wouldn’t mistake it for something as ridiculous as that. He’d know it was lèse-majesté you were aiming for!”

Hinata, who had been rearranging her vials, porcelain pots and brushes, let a delicate lid slip from her finger and fall with an inelegant clunk on her vanity. Her smile slipped from her lips and she closed right up like a clam, her skin blooming in heat and color. She doubted it would have crossed their father’s mind. But Hinata could certify the other members of their clan would be only too happy to draw such conclusions, making their father’s opinion on the subject virtually insignificant.

Hanabi, though she had many good qualities, could not count discernment among them. She did not think anything out of order with Hinata bridling and blushing. More of the same, really. Nor did she avert her eyes when Hinata undid the loose belt around her waist. The yukata opened around her torso, its lapels barely covering her generous breasts. In all great families, there was a special stress put on false modesty. Hypocrite puritanism abounded.

Men entertained women of easy reputation. And yet, kept their daughters in virtual ignorance about their own bodies, let alone about the other sex. Then, these insipid misses, once married, ensured their new husbands continued in entertaining women of easy reputation and that their daughters remained in the same ignorance.

Well, Hanabi had not been raised as an insipid miss. For one, surrounded by generals as she had been from her youngest age, she’d learned all the things Hinata had never had the chance to. She knew more about men, women and the in-between than any one of the generals. For she had accumulated the knowledge of each and every one of them, made building blocks out of it all and built herself a most cynical opinion for someone as young. It had made her develop a definite contempt towards men. An indifferent pity towards women. And an impressive amount of caution.

Now, about the female body, she’d become the witness of puberty at an early age. As soon as she had been able to walk and to express demands, Hanabi had demanded to bath with her sister. Oh, she had been refused at first. Hinata-hime had, at the time, still been the heiress and would take her baths after long, gruesome training sessions. Way past Hanabi’s bedtime. Well, the refusal had earned Natsu a handful of torn out hair, a kick to the stomach and bite-marks that hadn’t faded for weeks. Hanabi had made her point and a new tradition had been instituted. Hanabi-hime bathed with Hinata-hime.

And since Hinata had hit puberty young, though her height seemed to say otherwise, Hanabi had had the pleasure to see all the changes take place in real-time. She was an educated little lady, surprisingly more ready to take on the world than her bad taste in clothing led on. All that to say that she was neither shocked nor ashamed when her elder stood up, let the yukata fall to her feet and walked around her room as naked as she was the day of her birth. Hanabi observed her in the mirror of her vanity. Yes, well, Hanabi knew how female bodies changed. And she was quite sure hers wouldn’t do so any more than it had until then. Flat-chested, slightly knock-kneed, small-faced, big-eyed and tiny. And so she would remain.

But, she would be the leader. She already had everything that any normal Hyūga would have wanted. Only greed could have pushed her to wish for her sister’s beauty on top of it. And to some extent, it calmed Hanabi’s nerves, the knowledge that Hinata was so much the prettier of the two. For the younger was the stronger, at least so the whole clan made her believe. The affection Hanabi felt towards her sister was laced with culpability. Had she not been the stronger in one instance, Hinata would have now been not only the prettier and the more distinguished of the two sisters, but also the heir to the clan.

Hinata advanced towards a sturdy wooden cupboard, not feeling the least bit of shame in front of her younger sister, used as she was to consider her as nothing but an extension of herself. She eschewed colorful yukata and elegant kimono, looking for something that would not offend her stickler of a father while being simple enough for her to feel comfortable. A plain kimono of a mixture of hemp and cotton in a less than inspiring shade of grey. Adding to that all the usual components and she would be very respectable.

Not exactly how she desired to appear in the situation she was finding herself in. However, Hinata did not have the courage to be seen by her father any other way. He would not say a thing, she knew. And that would be enough to drive her crazy. Crazier than she already was, that is. That cold look of contempt that was his trademark whenever looking at her had become too much to her feeble nerves ever since the war. It tore at her. It ate at her.

Her chin in her hand, her elbow resting on the smooth surface of Hinata’s low vanity, Hanabi looked on with tepid interest as her sister slipped on a very thin juban undershirt over her shoulders, expertly rolled a white susoyoke skirt over her hips and finally shrugged into a nagajuban undergarment. So much trouble for nothing. Hanabi’s clothes were nicely padded so she didn’t need all of those extra pieces whenever she got into a kimono. The truth being that she lacked Hinata’s patience and expertise. The younger one was expert at breaking arms. Not pulling kimono up perfectly with one hand while slowly rolling obi all around herself.

Once her feet were clad in white tabi, Hinata stalked back to her sister. Raising a delicate foot, she playfully put it on Hanabi’s knee, softly pushing at it with her toes.

“Scoot!”

The younger sister clicked her tongue but did move away to give Hinata full access to her vanity. Shooting a look from the corner of her eye at Hanabi, the eldest straightened her back and let a falsely pretentious expression fall over her features, eliciting a giggle. But after a frank look at herself in the mirror, Hinata could not keep that special twinkle in her eyes. She looked haggard. Her hair dishevelled, her skin pasty and those dark blotches under her eyes. She did not sleep well. She hadn’t slept well ever since the sealing. Or maybe was it ever since the end of war. No, the uneasy sleep went back, way back. She closed her eyes for a split of an instant, letting a shaky breath filter through her lips.

Hanabi, who, as previously determined, wasn’t the most perspicacious observer of human emotions, did however notice her sister’s trouble. Though she did not guess the cause of it correctly. Filling her lungs with air, as if it would give her more courage (one knew a subject was of utter importance if Hyūga Hanabi needed courage to start it), Hanabi opened her mouth wide in a most comic fashion. Hinata just didn’t feel like laughing very much at that very instant.

“Irohasanisagoodman”, was sputtered so quickly Hinata barely caught the words.

Hanabi melodramatically (she would have been nettled had she known she looked quite ridiculous) stopped as if she had delivered a powerful monologue, throwing out her chest to give herself consequence, a bad replacement for courage. Hinata had by that time dipped her fingers into a rich cream. That quick sentence had been spoken before her fingers had had time to reach the skin of her cheek. And so, her fingers stayed suspended in the air. She stared at her sister’s reflection in the mirror. Carefully, suspiciously, she parted her lips. Closed them. Cleared her throat.

“Iroha-san is indeed a v-very worthy m-man”, Hinata finally enunciated, slowly and cautiously.

That was enough to get Hanabi started. She had much to say on the subject.

“Oh, and much better than Hoheto’s youngest son. _He_ is younger than _me_!”

‘ _Whereas you are an old cat, Hinata._ ’

Hanabi had not said so. She had not thought so either. Hinata had though. She was not sure whether she would be allowed to smile or whether it would be better to keep her mouth shut. She chose wisely by not saying anything. Hanabi was far from done.

“And chichi-ue says he is a great warrior, though his Byakugan is barely active. He even said Iroha was one of his _best_ warriors. And you trained with him. And Hoheto’s son, you barely know him, anyways.”

Having recovered from the initial shock, Hinata softly caressed her cheek with her fingertips, getting rid of all the cream on them, while pushing the porcelain jar towards Hanabi. Hanabi was delighted by the thought and imitated her elder. She might never be as pretty as her older sister, however the future leader was twice as vain and didn’t mind being treated as a woman by the most womanly person she knew.

“I am not quite s-sure I see what Iroha-san has to do with Hoheto-san’s youngest son. Or any of his sons for that matter. I don’t think any of them s-serves under Iroha-san.”

Hanabi’s excitement went down a notch as she received the tiny, wooden flask in which Hinata kept this archaic, but oh so mysterious, perfume. Rather than smelling nicely, it smelled familiar. Before wetting her index, Hanabi carried it to her nose and took in a whiff. It smelled exactly like Hinata. That very smell had kept lingering in Hanabi’s nostrils ever since she’d known for herself.

She broke the silence at last. In a very serious voice, she asked the one question that had to be answered.

“Will you marry Iroha?”

Hinata sighed softly. Well, at least her younger sister, though she looked like him the most, had nothing of their grandfather’s slyness. Pound dealing it was with Hanabi.

“You spend much time with him and it is obvious you are doing everything you can to drive Hoheto-san away.”

It must have been obvious indeed if Hanabi had noticed it. The truth was, having her elder sister, a high-stickler, exposing her cleavage was enough of a cue for anyone who knew her, let alone for Hanabi who had first-hand experience with Hinata’s shyness. Slowly turning her head to face her younger sister, Hinata did something quite unusual. She looked straight into Hanabi’s eyes. Pinning her with an unwavering stare. Hinata never stared.

“Hanabi–”

No endearing suffix to her name. Hanabi’s face took an intent expression, preparing herself not to lose one word of what Hinata would say.

“Hanabi, do you w-wish me to marry Iroha-san?”

“What do I have to do with anything?!”, Hanabi exploded, surprising Hinata, whose eyes widened.

The outburst had not been expected. Though Hinata should have foreseen it. She should have known by then that Hanabi was very sensitive where her sister’s future was concerned. She was haunted by what the servants said behind closed shōji. Hinata-hime was forced to marry as much beneath her as possible so that Hanabi-hime could rule without contest. The idea that she was the bane of her sister’s existence gave Hanabi nightmares. It shortened her nights and made her so distracted she could not perform during trainings, earning her nothing but their father’s reproaches.

“Nothing.”

Well, that one word only added to Hanabi’s stress. Now she felt bad about the outburst, too.

“Where I am c-concerned, I do not intend to marry either Iroha-san, who is a very worthy warrior, or Hoheto-san’s s-son, who promises to be a most excellent man in his time.”

Hanabi’s eyes who had bravely sustained Hinata’s unusual stare, lowered demurely at that conclusion. Well, it is not like she had thought Hinata would marry the twerp. That would have been too rich. And Hoheto, who always carried himself mighty high and who hadn’t always been the most agreeable person towards Hinata, obviously wanted a piece of the heritage pie. If Hanabi was asked, and happily, being the future leader, she was indeed asked, he would not get as much as a crumb from that pie!

Iroha, on the other hand, was a wholly different problem. He was base-born. More base-born than any of the mansion’s servants. More base-born than the laundry-maids! Hanabi, who had seen Natsu curse at them with much venom, could not imagine there was someone beneath the laundry-maids. Yet so was the case with Iroha. Though he was unsealed. She did not know the whole story. But what she did know was that Iroha was a walking, talking scandal whose fault was generally laid at her father’s door. However, just like their father, and very much unlike their grandfather, there was nothing that made Hanabi’s heart beat faster than seeing a worthy warrior. And Iroha was just that!

And yet, it was with great unease that she contemplated the idea of Hinata marrying him. There was something off there. He was loyal, he was strong and courageous. His protector had left him a comfortable independence in the form of a good, albeit old-fashioned, house. He was not handsome though, at least according to the servants. Hanabi did not truly have an eye for men. Though she knew a man ought to be handsome too, if he aspired to matrimony.

And, what was more to the point, he could barely write and read. And Hinata was the best-read person in the whole compound, or so Hanabi believed (a salutary belief, for she would have blamed herself even more had Hinata not presented superior qualities that were out of Hanabi’s reach). Then, there was this other problem. According to the generals, who never watched their tongue in her presence (though their father and Hinata would have appreciated the effort), Iroha was not a … whole man. He could not … Well … He could not _sire_ children.

That was a misery she would have never condemned Hinata to. If there was one thing Hanabi believed, it was that Hinata _had_ to have children. The leader’s youngest daughter was not farsighted. She did not see in what way Hinata having children would in any way go against her own interest. And if anyone had told her, she would have scoffed at the idea. For all she cared, Hinata’s offspring could very well inherit her position. That way, she would not be pressured to reproduce, which would have suited Hanabi the best. Such thoughts were unseemly in a fifteen-year old head. But in the Hyūga clan you had to think for yourself. Because if you let others do so in your stead, you often ended up regretting it.

No, Iroha was certainly not the man for Hinata.

Before she had the time to check herself, she had spoken words that had made Hinata’s face contort in utter anger for a split of a second. Just long enough for Hanabi to understand that she had said something unpardonable.

“Why not marry your Kō, then?”

That’s what she had dared utter. It had been said with the best intentions, but hastily, without Hanabi having given it a thought. As soon as the words had left her lips, she had clasped her sweetly-perfumed palms over her mouth. It was too late. Hinata softly turned her head once again towards the mirror in front of her. Picking up a wooden brush, she slowly went through her black locks, undoing knots with her fingers and smoothing the strands that rebelliously stood on end.

Yes. Why not marry her Kō, then? Spoken like a servant. Groping for the drawers of her vanity, Hinata let Hanabi hang there, unable to move an inch. Unable to speak to defend her words. There was nothing to defend, really. Her younger sister had said what the whole compound was thinking. That she, Hinata, the eldest daughter of their leader, was having a most shameful affair with the servant Kō. The problem was not them all thinking it. The problem was Hinata …

In a clumsy movement, she almost tore the drawer out of the vanity. But she found what she had been looking for. A kanzashi in the form of a jade pin. The only ornament that was truly dear to her. The only ornament that had truly been dear to her mother. Twisting her hair up, Hinata unwaveringly stabbed the mass with the pin. And, behold, magic. That heavy mass of jet black did not fall right back down. Such a thin, delicate thing, that jade pin, and yet so useful and strong. Very handy when one had to stab someone, too.

Giving herself one last look in the mirror, Hinata was satisfied with the fact that at least in her father’s presence she would not be shaming herself. She turned her back as she swiftly stood up and made her way towards the shōji, stepping into zōri sandals that had been thrown that way when she had rummaged through her clothes.

Before walking out, she shot one last, clear look at her younger sister still seated by the vanity, not knowing what to say or do. The smile Hinata flashed her was as fake as the calmness in her voice when she gave a very unwelcome advice that bit Hanabi to the heart.

“Remember, Hanabi-chan. S-Spying and gossiping with servants are t-two of the most reprehensible pleasures a future l-leader could be caught indulging in.”

 **x.x.x**

Waiting for her in front of Hiashi-sama’s apartments with a large wooden box was Kō. As efficient as always. He had already tasted all of his master’s dishes, excused himself to go in search for Hinata’s koto, told the servants when they were expected to clear the table, and his coming back meant Hiashi-sama could finally partake of his dinner without fear of poisoning. However, before that, Hinata-hime had to be introduced.

As she advanced towards him, their eyes met. Her skin went up in flames immediately. Truly, Hanabi’s words had done much mischief. Oh, the servants had been saying much uglier things for the last three years. However, it had reached such proportions that even Hanabi spoke of it as if it were a fact. The man frowned for his part. After more than fifteen years at her service, he had become quite the expert at reading all of Hinata’s expression and of discriminating between her blushes. Well, she was embarrassed, that much was sure. Why, he could only guess.

Being in Hiashi-sama’s company had a way of frightening anyone. Even his generals, a merry bunch of ill-raised mongrels, bit their tongues in his presence. In one simultaneous movement, both of them let themselves fall to their knees in front of the paper panel. Another look at each other. She so fragile. Like she had always been. He lowered his eyes, turning his head slightly to the side, as if in shame. He could never sustain her look.

He was still the same lean man. Not a handsome man, he’d never been that. He had the flat Hyūga nose, commonly found outside of the leading family. His hair always cropped short, to remind him of his lowly position. And of a common, washed-out brown color. Though he had nothing to recommend him face-wise, he had been a most respected member of the household. Before ever having become Hiashi’s valet, he had been the one in charge with the security of the leading family’s mansion. From the hiring of servants to determining the position of the men guarding the mansion. _His_ men, that were now Iroha’s.

However, he had thrown it all to the winds for one Hyūga Hinata. And he had never had reason to regret it, believing he had done what was just and right. What had been his duty. Not a duty towards his clan, his lord. Not even his duty towards her. But towards himself. Or rather, towards–

The thundering voice heard through the thin paper panel made Hinata jump. Her father was entertaining company. And since the only company that could enrage him enough to have him bellow was her grandfather’s, a shiver ran down her spine. If there was one person she avoided when she could, it was her grandfather. Tactfully planning to slide the shōji aside before her father’s generally equal temper gave in, she was stopped by a warm hand on her knee. Her eyes rose to Kō’s profile. He was intently listening to what was being said. He wasn’t listening to doors, oh no. If the leader was reckless enough to raise his voice and if any passerby could hear, then it was no sin to pay attention to what the lord had to say. Since he obviously wanted to be heard.

And indeed, his resounding words were worth being listened to.

“And I shall not countenance any more of Konoha’s false uprightness. I shall not have them question my decisions and undo my decrees!”

A much softer voice, calm and the more frightening for it, answered, though barely filtering through the strained paper of the sliding pane.

“Thus, you shall take into account _their_ laws and regulate _your_ actions based on them? Sometimes, you put me in mind of what you were fifty years ago. It is not to your advantage, believe me.”

“She shall not be given to the lowest of the low when she could be useful to build new alliances or to reinforce already existing ones. And if we must wait nine months for her to reach adulthood as per _their_ laws, then we shall wait!”

“At least, we agree that your dear, but ever so low, Iroha-san would not make her a suitable husband. But Hoheto-san’s–”

“So that my men could say that I fear Hoheto?! That I cater to his desires by gifting him a daughter of my house?! Certainly not.”

“And who else do you propose? The next Raikage, maybe? Because that shall not look like your giving in? Erasing history for the benefit of diplomacy? Are you truly keeping her for that peasant Darui? Do you expect her to go tend pigs and cows once her husband’s term is over? Then again, it is maybe the Kazekage that you are aiming for. Now, the boy is an aristocrat. An aristocrat with older siblings, of which one at least is ambitious. I shall be very surprised if Sabaku no Temari’s betrothal to Nara Shika’s son comes to anything. But not surprised if she were to succeed her brother as the next Kazekage. Unless you are thinking of our future Rokudaime Hōkage. The Hatake were a clan _once_ , I grant you. What a nice son-in-law the next Hōkage would make you. Neither of you would be allowed to act based on what is advantageous, but only as is contrary to the interests of the other.”

A silence full of rage settled between the two men, broken after a moment by the same sugary voice.

“The girl is a slave and as such she is a property of this clan. Konoha has nothing to say, and never has said anything, about how we treat our slaves.”

Yet another silence, a thick, heavy veil that seemed to have fallen all over the household.

“My _lord_ ”, spoke the sterner voice, with much irony emphasised on the last word.

“My lord, do you insinuate that I spawn slaves? I shall pass over this insult however not forget it.”

Whenever Hiashi called his father his lord, whenever his voice rang hollow, one knew that only the most gruesome punishment could be expected from him. However, the former leader of the Hyūga clan had power. And knew his son better than anyone. The boy, for though Hiashi was fifty, he was nothing but a boy for this old warrior who refused to die, the boy could not harm him or punish him as if he were a simple soldier. However, he had the right to thwart his father’s plans. The very idea of it enraged the old gentleman.

“What you say is true, my lord. Or rather it would have been true had it not been for you. I daresay you remember your insistence at my daughter accepting the title of Hero of Konoha, alongside many others. And I assume that you are aware that this honour comes with the very handicapping obligation of serving one’s country until one’s death. The average shinobi has no honor but his pension at the end of his service. Whereas, a Hero of Konoha has all the honors besides those of a comfortable income and retirement.”

A cold, dry little laugh followed the sally.

“Unfortunately, Hiashi, my dear granddaughter is the only living Hero of Konoha in our family, though I hope to see Hanabi just as honored in her time. _Your_ contributions during both the Third and the Fourth Great War went unnoticed. Let us not even mention the smaller, local skirmishes you took part in. But that is all it is, an honor. I very much doubt our current Hōkage would act rashly with nothing but that to fall back on.”

An angry snicker to match the mocking laughter that had preceded the speech.

“Yes? I assume that the Secretary of Defense asks ever so often to have his prospective betrothed produced for examination to ensure that her beauty is not failing her! _No_ , my lord. I will not give him a pretext to come waltzing into this compound and start regulating _my_ behavior! I hope I have made the matter clear to you. I do not wish to discuss it again until it can be solved without any interference.”

‘ _I’ll be damned if I give Hatake Kakashi my head for washing_ ’ was what the leader of the most powerful clan of Konohagakure was meaning.

“Very well, leader of the Hyūga clan. Though, permit me to suggest you dropping your elder daughter a hint. Her behavior, obviously meant to attract your worthy Iroha-san, is a little bit too shocking for common morals. She should learn to be more discrete in her loves that seem, unfortunately, to run quite low. Oh and while you do that, do please remind her that listening to doors is most unbecoming. Even for a slave.”

At those last words, Kō’s hand, that had started to quake in ill-concealed anger, left Hinata’s knee and violently pushed the sliding pane aside.

“Hiashi-sama”, he hissed from between his clenched teeth, “forgive this undue tardiness. Hinata-hime’s instrument had been misplaced by the servants.”

Lying was a Hyūga’s daily bread. Especially when one was a servant. It was part of the job description. Seated in front of a table covered with delicate dishes were two men, facing each other. One was quite elderly, his skin deeply wrinkled. The other, younger with lines of dissipation. Both of them were so similar in face that no one would have doubted their relationship. Had Hanabi been present, she would have charmingly completed the family picture. Hinata had no place in that family of strong-jawed, cold-eyed, brown-haired warriors.

Hinata’s grandfather stood up. Though he did it with a cold air of self-control, she still saw him stagger. Yes, age had caught up to him. His back that had once been as straight as an arrow had started to bend at the neck. His steps that had once been self-assured had become so small. How much more time he had left, she did not know. What she did know was that even if he died, she wouldn’t be rid of him. Her grandfather had a strange way of lingering.

When he decided to step down the tatami platform, the old man lost equilibrium. And though she feared him, Hinata darted forward, her arms extended, letting his claw-like fingers take support on her forearm. And at once, she was pushed aside.

“Do not touch me”, her grandfather spat, their eyes meeting for a split of an instant.

He had never loved her. But then again, whom had he ever loved?! However, why a man so indifferent to what he considered beneath his touch had always shown so much animosity towards her was beyond her. Yet, though her affectionate heart could not feel fondness for him, she was grateful to her grandfather. Grateful for the care he had shown Hanabi, for having helped make her an excellent kunoichi and a promising leader. That was enough to earn him Hinata’s kindness.

He did not know how to appreciate it. The former leader had made it a habit to coldly stalk past her whenever the occasion arose. So he did again, leaving her standing there, in front of her father.

“Kō!”, Hiashi snapped in a low growl.

At once, the servant, who had remained behind, stood up and advanced to stand beside Hinata, letting his fingers clandestinely caress her kimono’s sleeve. Just one sideways look from Hiashi was enough. Kō had been trained to obey unspoken orders. He shrugged out of his zōri and stepped onto his leader’s tatami. In no time, all the untouched porcelain china cups and plates were removed onto a wooden plate and Kō rushed out of the room, shooting one last, meaningful look at Hinata.

He detested running sly, however there was little chance his presence would be tolerated. Indeed, the indolent, fatigued movement of Hiashi’s hand, motioning for Hinata to approach, did not include an invitation for the servant. Running back towards the heavy wooden case she had left behind, she clumsily embraced it and slowly walked towards her father. The instrument in itself was more than eight inches taller than her and she generally didn’t have to carry it herself.

Her father was in no mood for gallantry and had never been. He’d taken the habit to be harsher towards Hinata than Hanabi, believing he would eventually cure her from her shyness, fear and general incapacity to perform under pressure. Under _his_ pressure, actually. She’d always performed surprisingly well in situations of life and death. All that to say that habits were difficult to break and thus, Hiashi did not make an effort to ease his daughter.

Hinata was not one to give up easily. She did, with much effort, carry herself up towards her father. Seating herself at a respectable distance, she busied herself with the case, her paulownia koto and all the complementary pieces. Everything not to meet her father’s unwavering glare. She truly was the bane of his existence, wasn’t she? He could not have a moment’s repose with the likes of his failure of a daughter.

“Haru no Umi”, was the only thing he said, chin resting in his palm, forefinger massaging his temple.

Spring Sea. How fitting. Luckily, since it was a favorite of her father’s, she did not need any scores. She knew the song by heart. Once the silk strings drawn and the ivory bridges positioned, her thin, long fingers started flying about the instrument. And the music took a hold of her. It had been her father’s gift, this music. She had been good for nothing and he had been enraged by it. But he had seen in her what he had not in Hanabi. His own genius for the arts. Unlike him, she was an indifferent painter. But though he had a great natural taste for music, he had never had the opportunity to learn. Hinata had been given the opportunity he had never had.

And as such, he had gifted her the only thing he had had himself and something he could not, or would not, give Hanabi. He had given her eternal company in the form of a koto. An outlet to her anguish, her anger, her joy. All emotions a Hyūga must hide. And how many times had the mansion resonated with the lamentations of his daughter’s koto! He had once said that Hyūga Hinata did not have the strength to lead men. He maintained it. However, was her mediocrity enough of a reason to make him have to be judge, jury, executioner to his own flesh, his own blood?! Had this been the first time… But it was not the first time…

As if an electric shock had passed through his spine, Hiashi straightened at once, slamming his palm against the surface of the table. The sound did not frighten Hinata. But it did make her stop playing respectfully. Raising her head, she finally let him get a good look. Those eyes. Those were not the eyes that ran on his side of the family. Her mother’s eyes. His stomach lurched, contorted as if his intestines had transformed into snakes. He had despised that woman. She had been the leash around his neck. She had cost him the one he had loved. And Hinata had to be the spit of her.

Those eyes. Big, frightened, yet steadfast. Like a deer’s. He had hated the mother. However, it was _his_ child he was facing.

“Kumo’s Raikage, Suna’s Kazekage, Konoha’s future Rokudaime Hōkage? State your wish.”

It was the closest to fatherly love she would ever get.

As such, it had to be honored. She did so by blushing at the thought of picking men as if they were cattle. And by thinking it through like the cunning fox Iroha believed her to be. Kumo to the east, Suna to the west. Konoha at equal distance between the two. Kumo she had learned to fear in her childhood. The Raikage was a man she had learned to distrust during the war. Vulgar, loud-mouthed, rash, hypocritical. Dangerous. Deadly, just as much.

His prospective heir, however, was calm, indifferent, phlegmatic. The type to not be overly interested in her. She would be a trophy wife to all of Kaminari no Kuni if ever she chose to marry the future Raikage. A caged bird with broken wings. And a much better replacement to lost honor than her uncle’s corpse had ever been. She did have one friend in Kumo. However, that dear friend had no political power whatsoever. No salvation to be expected from that quarter. It was no better than having one’s throat slit in the Hyūga compound.

Then, there was the Kazekage. Mutual antipathy summed it up quite well. The Kazekage was considered good-looking enough of a man, the first gentleman of his kingdom. And yet, there were no indiscretions to mar his family’s name. Or to raise him in the opinion of his soldiers. And Hinata had seen the reason in his eyes. While she had had a public life, she had been witness to his behavior towards one Uzumaki Naruto. The Kazekage had also seen her behavior towards the same Uzumaki Naruto. The very thought of it made her stomach heave. Nonetheless, the similarity of their aims had not made them friends. Though neither had stood a chance. This circumstance had made their dislike for each other just stronger. It would indeed be ironic if they were forced into matrimony. The Kazekage had one big advantage over other potential candidates. A sand-haired, gold-eyed sister. Sabaku no Temari ruled the roost. And she was a woman one could do business with. Hinata needed but one ally.

Finally, Hatake Kakashi, who fared well to become the next Hōkage. Hyūga Hiashi had been a most thoughtful father. Besides having ensured his daughter was taught music, he’d made provisions for her future, if ever a future she had. She would be able to work for herself. She was an educated hime, not some porcelain doll, pretty to look at but as useless as any ornament. Behind her shyness, he had seen a most worrisome penchant for gambling. Her behavior on the battlefield, in those situations of life and death already mentioned, had only confirmed his fear. That, she held from him. In his youth, he had lost ridiculous amounts of money at play. And not only money. However, what was good-naturedly dismissed in a man was viewed as a horrid flaw in a woman’s character.

To keep her away from bets and money games, he had made her learn finances. It was the closest to gambling hells he could offer her. And a good skill to have for anyone, let alone for a woman who would always be reproached a future husband’s extravagance. It was in good taste to have Hinata investing in shares, and Hiashi was not beneath having her manage a portfolio for him.

Well, from a financial point of view, Hinata could say that the future Hōkage would be a high risk, low profit venture.

He would cost Hanabi too much. Not money-wise. Not land-wise. But power-wise. The power struggles between the Hyūga clan and Konoha’s ruling class were legendary. More than once had the clan made the rulers of Hi no Kuni bow their heads. A few times had it made them pay respect on their knees. This tendency should not be reversed. Not at the price of Hanabi’s honor. Not in Hinata’s name. Hatake Kakashi was one of her father’s staunchest opponents. It would be difficult, albeit far from impossible, to force him to take her as wife. And once the crime had been committed, only pain would ensue. Both for Konoha and the Hyūga clan. There would be war. Oh, not like the Fourth Great Shinobi War. Rather a war behind closed doors. Hanabi would be the only loser. It surprised Hinata her father had even considered it. No, Hatake Kakashi had to be kept at bay.

Lowering her head and examining the silk strings of her instrument, she did not answer her father. It had been a rhetorical question anyways. She had to be removed from the compound. And there were only two ways of achieving such a result. Murder or marriage. Overwhelmed as she was by her thoughts, she did not notice her fingers had reprised their movement over the koto, producing a most haunting melody. All the answer her father would get from her for the time being.

After an hour of silence and music in her father’s company, she finally returned to her own apartments, exhausted and shaken. Only to find something lying on her low vanity. Crawling towards it, she squinted in the darkness. That hand. She recognized that hand. A horrible, careless scrawl. She picked the letter up with trembling fingers. During the first year of her absence, he had written to her daily. To the point she had heard Kō bad broken his nose for him. During the second year, he had written every week. And now, she received a letter every month. Alongside the letters that _she_ wrote Hinata. Whereas the third one never wrote. By the next year, her loyal correspondent would write only one letter in the year. And then … Then, nothing. If Hinata lived as long, that is.

Pulling at one of her vanity’s drawers, she retrieved a pack of unopened envelopes, neatly tied up. Her deft fingers made the new letter join the bundle. As she held onto it for a moment, a droplet of water hit the back of her hand. But just one. Raising the tied-up pack, she pressed her lips against the unopened letters. Once returned to their drawer, they were condemned to oblivion.

She frowned slightly.

The Raikage, the Kazekage, the Hōkage.

She just had to state her _desire_.

 **x.x.x**

Konoha’s Secretary of Defense had a way purely his own to walk into a hospital. For one, he did not stop in his stride, merely grabbed the first med-nin on his path by the collar, dragging him along with no ceremony.

“Where is he?”

The voice was sweet. And very blasé. No unruly emotions seeped through. His eyes were always narrowed by a smile, which itself was eternally hidden under a black mask. He was wearing it at that very instant. No one knew the reason behind it. No one dared ask. Deadly, legendary shinobi had their quirks.

He didn’t need to expound on who he was looking for. The whole hospital knew. There was but one patient at that moment who was being operated on by both the Gōdaime and Shizune-sama. Only one precious enough to deserve the honor.

“Uhm, well, he is in an operation room at the moment. I believe _they_ are not done with the procedure.”

Med-nin’s were the most elegant of shinobi. That was indeed a way of putting it. What the poor young man meant was that the shit had hit the fan and that Uchiha Sasuke was bleeding all over the place. Wonderful. Exactly what Kakashi needed to start the day. Being woken up at an inhuman hour of the morning, being dragged to the hospital. All of that before having the pleasure of meeting the likes of Hyūga Hiashi and his little fan club of Konoha clan leaders for a discussion on military matters. It would be a long day.

“But as soon as it is over, he will be transferred to the trauma intensive care unit. If you wish to wait for him there, it is on the–”

“I know where it is”, Kakashi agreeably interrupted his interlocutor, letting go of the med-nin’s collar in the process.

The poor boy, who was obviously an apprentice, almost went crashing to the ground. That was Kakashi-sama for you. No nonsense. However, people were wrong to believe he had not been shaken by the news of Uchiha Sasuke having gotten mowed down during a most important mission. For two reasons. One, Uchiha Sasuke already was a cripple, a consequence of the War. Two, there only was one person who could have harmed Uchiha Sasuke. Though they had been sent to Kumo, and though the Raikage’s capacities were awe-inspiring, Kakashi wasn’t referring to him.

In fact, Kakashi was so shaken he had forgotten to bring some reading material. If that wasn’t a show of worry for the wellbeing of his former pupil, he didn’t know what was.

Joke apart, what had crept up Naruto’s ass to once again go for Sasuke’s throat?! One time, during the War, hadn’t been enough?! Then again, some greater force must have pushed Naruto to act. He wasn’t the type to raise his hand against Sasuke without supreme provocation. Had it been otherwise, there wouldn’t have been a war to begin with. Once again, though he respected the Raikage _immensely_ , he wasn’t the superior force Kakashi was thinking about. Rather, this ethereal power must have had green eyes and pink hair.

Those were his slightly cynical thoughts as he huddled with a bunch of med-nin in an elevator. Sasuke’s favorite floor was number thirteen, he’d spent enough time there as a kid. Happily, the intensive care unit was on the same floor. And when Kakashi stepped out, he was welcomed by a silence most welcome to his irritated nerves.

It didn’t even take him a second to choose which way to go. When he had been five, it had been a game, locating potential adversaries. By age six, it had become a reflex. At the tender age of thirty-four, it was like breathing to him. Wherever he was, whether in a forest or in the middle of a shopping mall, he became one with the trees or the clothes racks. He was so in tune with his surroundings that he knew, at all times, the exact number of people to be found in a two-kilometer radius. Hence, it was no trouble for him to locate the people he was looking for.

His military march gave way to a languid stride. He turned one corner, than the other. Eventually, the silence got replaced by the hum of medical equipment, the rattling of trolleys, the buzzing of auxiliary personnel. And the uneven, jagged breathing of a man mourning his best friend. How very dramatic. Well, you would’ve thought the first time had taught him a lesson.

Stopping in front of a worn-out leather bench, Kakashi looked down. Wordlessly examining the source of the muted moans. A yellow head, a face hidden behind big, calloused hands. Softly burying his fingers into the shock of flashy blond hair, Kakashi pulled the head upwards. A pair of most surprising eyes looked up at him. Bluer even than the sea or the sky and bordered by scintillating, but short, lashes. It was a shame such eyes were lost on a man. No one could mistake the flat-bridged nose, the obstinate jaw and the chapped lips to be a woman’s. The fear reflected in that face however was genderless.

Quickly scanning what could be seen of the man’s attire, a sardonic smile appeared under Kakashi’s mask. Sakura had to be congratulated. With a dying Sasuke on her hands, she still had had the presence of mind to have Naruto change into his jōnin uniform. Kakashi assumed she had followed his example.

“Naruto.”

The blue eyes remained unfocused, as if he couldn’t see his former sensei.

“Naruto”, Kakashi repeated authoritatively.

“Sa… suke…”

“Sasuke is being taken care of. Listen carefully. I only, _only_ , want you to tell me what happened to him. How did he get harmed?”

Hearing someone else speak Sasuke’s name seemed to momentarily pull him out of his daze.

“S-Sasuke… He– No, Killer–”

“That’s not what I am asking you, Naruto. Concentrate! Only Sasuke.”

“He’s in shock. Leave him alone”, someone barked behind Kakashi’s back.

He let go of the golden strands and turned on his heels to be met by a most interesting set of facial features. Each more beautiful than the last. But together, they were simply discordant. Sparkling emeralds instead of simple eyes. A slightly upturned, little nose, most adorable. Full lips, part of an attractive mouth. And the fact the hair of this apparition was as pink as a cherry blossom did not take anything away from her.

But unfortunately, destiny had played her a cruel trick. It had scrunched all those outstanding features into the lower part of her head. When the ever so witty Yamanaka Ino had said Haruno Sakura had a billboard brow, she had made a point that would be passed down to posterity. The billboard brow was directed most dangerously Kakashi’s way.

“I can see that”, he answered amiably.

“And I assume I shall never know how he ended up in such a deplorable state.”

Sakura’s frown deepened, if that was even physically possible. She had chosen that day to have a resting bitchface. Not that Kakashi blamed the girl. However, he wasn’t a man who liked losing his precious time. The longer he waited to get updated the less time he’d have to nap before Hyūga Hiashi tore him a new one.

“Rather than telling me how poor Naruto went even softer in the head, though it defeats all laws of logic… You should update me on how you got him to gore Sasuke. I have obviously underrated your skills, Sakura.”

Her scowl vanished at once and was replaced by an expression between surprise and distress. There was something repulsive at the idea that she _had_ played a role in the whole business. But she had. And under orders. Sakura was not the type to admit fault or to ask for forgiveness. By extension, she wasn’t very enthused by the idea of taking responsibility either.

Hardening her eyes, she shot a suspicious look at the benevolent face… well, half-face… of her former sensei. It was so like him, faking innocence.

“The order was to do _everything_ not to get caught… or recognized.”

Kakashi chuckled in that enraging way of his. And Sakura was about to explode. Nobody cared about Naruto’s swaying back and forth on his seat.

“Oh, yes. I do remember that order. I gave it, after all. But, you see, forgetful me doesn’t remember ordering attempted murder on the person of Uchiha Sasuke. So tell me what happened and I promise to let you off the hook. After all, it is flattering to see that at least one of my _men_ takes my orders serious.”

Sakura blushed angrily. Controlling her temper was not her forte and if Kakashi didn’t take care, he might end up with a kick where it hurt. Not that she _actually_ thought she had a chance against him. It was all bravado.

“He… Sasuke… lost his temper. He was… provoked… to terminate the mission in a more drastic way, using a signature jutsu of his. The order was no casualties, no identification, no captivity. We had no choice but to hinder him, which we did.”

“What is it with you stating the obvious today? Get to the point. _How_ , that is what I am interested in.”

Biting her lower lip violently, Sakura had to avert her eyes, unable to withstand Kakashi’s scrutiny anymore.

“Sword.”

“Even if Naruto had aimed for the heart, that is no explanation to why Tsunade and Shizune are playing doctor on Sasuke at the moment. Anyway, not even you could convince Naruto to stab anyone. You are both in good shape as I can see and Sasuke isn’t the type to let himself get neutralized without a struggle. The war proved as much. Unless…”

The benign expression on Kakashi’s face melted into a cold porcelain mask. His mobile eyebrows froze into a straight line. His eyes, narrowed by a smile, widened at once, dark and cold.

“Unless, he was attacked from the back. And not by Naruto, not his style. Too disloyal by half for the likes of soft-hearted Naruto. Sasuke was facing an opponent he couldn’t easily dispose of. He had to do what he does best, wreck chaos. He mistook you following suite for wanting to take part in the brawl. That is when _you_ , Sakura, went for him from the back. Pissing him off at the first strike.”

It didn’t take much for Kakashi to reconstruct an event. He didn’t have to know the actors personally. Humans only came in so many sizes and shapes. Personality-wise, they were even less varied. However, if he _did_ know the people involved, then it went back to being yet another of his reflexes. As he gave his mind free reign, Sakura became totally unimportant. He didn’t need her anymore. She had told him enough for him to go on by himself. And to know that whatever crazy surmises he made, he would always be right. He never erred.

“Not expecting anything from the back, it effectively took his attention off his opponent. Who couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity to charge. You knew Sasuke would go for you, so after the first strike you jumped back. There probably was no extensive harm done, anyways. Enough to distract him for a moment, not enough to damage any vital organs he couldn’t fix for himself. Thing is, you spooked the shit out of the psychiatric case over there. He hadn’t expected it, though he was prepared to take over. And he did, aimed for the opponent while Sasuke had lost interest in you and went for him too.”

Kakashi’s eyes shone disquietingly. Naruto’s uneven breath rang in Sakura’s ears as she swallowed with effort. The two made a horrible impression on Sakura.

“That wouldn’t have been a problem either. Had you not wounded him. What is it that Naruto used? Fire? Lightning? It went into the wound, didn’t it? And that is where the shit hit the fan. The chakra went right through him, followed his own chakra channels. Knocking him out cold. I hope it didn’t go all the way to his eyes, because then we can expect brain damage.”

Yes, Kakashi felt better now. Now that he had put all the pieces back together. He felt in control. He knew what the next step was. What his own behavior should be. His love for structure and logic would simply never abate.

Sakura on the other hand was left with a horrible taste at the back of her throat. She’d often seen Kakashi deconstruct and reconstruct events. People too. It left her reeling each and every time. One thing she had never experienced was being on the receiving end, however. She had observed the evolution of his thoughts through the gleam in his eyes. It had frozen her in place. More even than the fact he had guessed what had happened in detail.

“Sasuke!”

The hoarse cry made Kakashi swiftly turn his head and gaze at Naruto, who had jumped up at the arrival of two women, of which one had a very uninviting expression plastered on her face.

“That’s Shizune, you idiot. You really need glasses. Next time you’ll mistake someone for Orochimaru. Don’t come snivelling to me to fix the situation then.”

Well, Sakura had informed the Hōkage before himself, most probably omitting all the important points and blaming Naruto for everything. Kakashi hated such situations, the idea that there was someone, anyone, better informed than himself. This hatred he had contracted during his service in the ANBU. And he also hated the spreading of false information.

“Thus, I can safely assume that you… ah… fixed Sasuke, Hōkage-dono?”, Kakashi agreeably inquired, earning himself a disgusted glare in return.

“Sasuke”, Naruto repeated again.

Tsunade put her hands on her hips, making her generous cleavage jiggle forwards. A most awkward display, even to Kakashi, who believed himself a hardened pervert. Well, he shouldn’t have called her ‘Hōkage-dono’. Not a title she relished. She had never truly gotten used to it.

“He’s gonna stop repeating ‘Sasuke’ like a broken record anytime soon?!”, she spat, obviously having had one hell of a bad night.

“Well, the poor boy is in shock. Anything you could do about that, Hōkage-dono? A pleasure to see you, Shizune-san.”

The dark-haired, soft-eyed woman who had respectfully taken place behind Tsunade, shot Kakashi a warning glance, nodding her head at him. The Gōdaime was not in a good mood. The operation had proven more difficult than foreseen. Pulling at her white coat’s sleeves, Shizune tried to conceal the marks of what had been a long, painful procedure that had required five med-nin and an innumerable quantity of support personnel.

“I ain’t a psychiatrist. Get him interned if you care so much.”

It took much of Kakashi’s self-control not to howl in laughter. Imagining Naruto in one of those white straitjackets was priceless. It most probably was the only way to stop him from jittering about. That and having him damage Uchiha Sasuke beyond repair. Well, _beyond repair_ … That had yet to be proven.

“Thank you for the suggestion, it is an excellent one. And Sasuke? Would you suggest I start preparing for a funeral while I am at it?”

The dirty look Tsunade shot Kakashi between her long, sand-colored lashes was accompanied by the appearance of angry red blotches on her cheekbones. 

“Only for my epidermis and dermis, yes. And have some sutra sang too, _while you’re at it_. As for the bitch who did this to me–”

At those words, she pulled her own sleeve up, revealing what Shizune had made a point to conceal. It wrenched a gasp out of Sakura. Horrible purple marks covered Tsunade’s forearm. Deep and intricate, they branched out to strangely take the shape of a tree. In itself, had the streaks not been wounds, they would have made the envy of any tattoo artist. However, since they were wounds, they were monstrous.

“As for the bitch who did this to me, he is snoozing at the moment. Induced coma.”

Kakashi frowned. So, brain damage. Sakura for her part staggered and had to flatten her hand against the wall to keep her from falling to her knees. Shizune, seeing what her mentor’s erratic words were leading to, intervened gently.

“Though there is _no_ intracranial hypertension _or_ traumatic brain damage, Uchiha-san’s dōjutsu was activated throughout the procedure and… complicated the overall operation. We could not access the kidney and liver Uchiha-san was unconsciously regenerating them.”

“And making a botched job out of it, too. I never saw such quick liver regeneration. You could see the thing going into hyperplasia right in front of you. I won’t even tell you what he was doing to his kidney. Eventually, his fucking Sharingan decided it was time to get rid of us and passed right through the kidney I had just finished working on. Doing this to me.”

Tsunade wildly shook her arm in front of Kakashi’s nose, giving Shizune a possibility to butt back in.

“We did try to reduce the Sharingan’s activity through general anesthesia, but nothing seemed to work–”

“It almost made the anesthesiologist cry!”

“– besides barbiturates. _That_ did have some moderate success and we were able to finish the procedure. However, we cannot take him out of the coma just yet.”

Well, that sounded… Kakashi wasn’t exactly sure how that sounded and Sakura was in no state to enlighten him. Lifting one eyebrow, the only thing that could be done was… mock the Gōdaime.

“I am happy to see the Hōkage-dono has conquered her fear of blood.”

“What blood?! I told you his liver and kidneys had been damaged. He almost bled to death. That part of him was as dry as dried fish. I had the impression I was cutting through butter.”

Kakashi was not truly an expert in biology. Well, besides reproductive biology, that is. However, he was quite sure that blood loss led to … death.

“Correct me if I am wrong, but his having bled to death implies that he is… well… dead, no?”

A tight, insincere smile pulling at the corners of her lips, the Gōdaime reached up and placed a hand on Kakashi’s shoulder.

“Hematopoiesis galore! He continuously produced blood cells and had them flowing through his other organs. I told you, I never saw this in my life. It’s like he blocked blood flow to the damaged organs until he got them under control. Ischemia, you would think. Well, no. Have no idea what he did, don’t really wanna know either. Good thing there aren’t too many Sharingan walking the surface of the earth anymore. Med-nin would go jobless. He should’ve been damaged, he regenerated. He should’ve been dead, he resuscitated. Madara couldn’t have done it any better.”

How very delicately put. Directing a questioning glance at Shizune who was twice as tired as anyone, responsible as she was of leading the medical team and of keeping Tsunade-sama in check. Meeting his eyes, she sighed silently.

“The prognostics are uncertain”, Shizune started, knowing full well that was what Kakashi wanted to know.

“It has been a long time since Uchiha Sasuke has last been treated at the hospital. But if his arm is any indication, though he can heal himself to a certain extent and induce his biological functions to enter dormancy, his abilities are limited. It is too early to say what the results will be. I am more worried that this occurred in the first place. Such strength–”

“– when wielded by someone as stupid as he is strong can cause much damage”, Kakashi completed for her, rolling his eyes and nodding in Naruto’s direction.

Naruto himself seemed to have regained some control over his emotions. The initial shock had subsided, but his cheeks had not regained their color and he still kept his eyes on one spot. Lost in his thoughts. Which was a feat in itself, taking into account no one considered his mind to be a very intricate maze.

“Can we go take a look at the medical wonder? I am sure Sakura and Naruto would love to see the result of their handiwork.”

“He’s just been transferred to intensive care, so how about ‘fuck no’?!” Tsunade growled.

“I promise I won’t let them touch him anymore”, Kakashi replied, doing as he damn well pleased.

And bullying Shizune into taking him to Sasuke by nothing but an insistent glance, he marched forward, wanting to finally get it over with. Tsunade agreed with the plan of getting shit done and therefore shrugged her shoulders. She’d pushed for the hospital’s guidelines to be respected. She did her job.

“I couldn’t care less at this point. I am off to a drink and plan to sleep through the day. You can take care of my responsibilities for me, can’t you, _Hatake-san_? Thank you in advance!”

Whenever she used that annoying singsong voice and disappeared before he had the time to open his mouth, Kakashi knew there was a lot of work to be done. Sighing while passing a hand through his hair, he walked by Naruto, grabbed onto his arm to shake him out of his haze and followed where Shizune led. And all four of them eventually ended up in a bleak room with a glass wall.

And in the middle of it was a bed. On the bed was lying a thing, for lack of a better word. A thing plugged into a multitude of beeping machines, monitors all around it and an endotracheal tube shoved down its throat. Kakashi had seen men in such situations. But seeing a former pupil, as crazy, reckless and overall dangerous as that pupil was, did not make it easy for him to keep his countenance. Naruto let something along the lines of a yelp escape him, blanching even more if that was possible. Sakura being the only one the least bit accustomed to such sights, beside Shizune, took a step forward and approached the bed while doing her best to control the heaving of her stomach.

In a violent movement, she pulled the cover away from the body on the bed. There went Kakashi’s promise not to let them get close to poor, mangled Sasuke. Sakura’s eyes hardened as she examined Sasuke’s body. A loose hospital jacket had been placed over him, to conceal what was beneath it, obviously. She did not have the balls to remove it. Her eyes went from his right arm, covered in catheters, over his chest to rest on what remained of his left arm.

Then, they went up to his face. Sasuke looked so peaceful. His eyes had not sunken in their orbs. His lips had not become chapped from lack of hydration. His skin was pale, yes. But not in any way different from his natural complexion. Had it not been for the tubing, she would have thought he was sleeping. More serenely than she ever had witnessed him to. And she… She might have leaned in. Kissed his right eyelid. Then his left.

Right there and then, in front of the man whom she took to bed every night. Right in front of her lover. And Sakura would not have felt a tinge of guilt. She had long stopped being a good woman. She had long lost that romantic idealism that had been at the very center of her life. Only raw, unsatisfied desire remained. Drinking mud every day, when she only wanted a gulp of fresh mountain water.

As if reading her mind and wanting to make sure she didn’t act on her desire, a scene right out of horror movies unfolded in front of her. The body Sakura had been so carefully examining came to life at once. The immobile, pale eyelids snapped open, revealing the darkest eyes. Two unmoving obsidians. A terrified scream escaped Sakura, as she jumped back.

Provoked by the scream, the body slowly lifted its functional arm, grabbing onto the endotracheal tube with shaking fingers. All were frozen in place as they saw the thing being violently torn out of Sasuke’s mouth, making blood fly in the air and hit the wall behind the bed. The movement of the hand had led to the catheters tearing through the flesh. More blood seeped out through the new wounds, staining the bed-sheets.     

“Motherfucker”, Kakashi barked, not knowing what to do, taken out of his depth for maybe the first time of his life.

Shizune threw herself at the door, calling for reinforcement. Sakura staggered back further, hitting the wall and taking support on it with her shoulder until she made it through the door as well. Only Naruto seemed to have been electrocuted back into action. At Sasuke’s first animal snarl of pain, he took a step forward. Then another one. Then flung himself onto the body. He grabbed the flailing hand and held onto it tight.

His blue eyes, shrunken by a fierce scowl, examined the veins popping out on Sasuke’s forehead and straining against the skin of his neck. He was making a subhuman effort to regain control over his body. Naruto did not care about the blood that was staining his jōnin jacket or that glinted on Sasuke’s clenched teeth. The only thing he cared about was calming Sasuke.

“I am here, teme. I am fucking here. I am so sorry, so sorry. Fuck, man. Hold on. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

He kept repeating the same words over and over again. To the point tears of rage sprang to his eyes as Sasuke desperately tried to sit up. Letting atrocious, restrained sounds, between whines and growls, escape him. It was his fault, it had all been Naruto’s fault. His grip on Sasuke’s hand intensified.

It was the first time he had truly damaged Sasuke. Up until then, their battles had been fair, face-to-face encounters. Sasuke had not expected Naruto attacking from the back. And Naruto had not expected his attack would have such a devastating effect. He had become used to having Sasuke come out of everything and anything with a few superficial gashes and cuts. Eventually with a lost arm.

He had never seen such raging fear in Sasuke’s eyes.

As a group of med-nin rushed into the room following Shizune, Kakashi lost track of what was happening. Grabbing onto Shizune’s arm, he hissed at her.

“Didn’t you say he was in an induced coma?!”

Shizune tore her arm out of his grip, glowering at him.

“There is enough pentobarbital flowing through his body to kill a horse”, she hissed back before focusing her whole attention on guiding her team.

Soon enough, Kakashi got ushered out, with only Naruto remaining behind. Who would have ever thought Uzumaki Naruto could have the most presence of mind out of all of them. That was a serious blow to Kakashi’s ego.

Passing a shaking hand over his brow, he realized he was drenched in sweat. Unsurprisingly. He had witnessed a most horrible display of human suffering barely a minute ago. Just as everyone else, he had never expected to hear such sounds coming from Sasuke. At some point, the kid had succeeded in convincing the world that suffering was not part of his vocabulary. Though he had, at times, displayed emotions, he had never given anyone reason to believe that he actually felt physical pain.

Kakashi would have walked away, went back to his place, taken a shower and gone to the office to get himself abused by the Konoha clan leaders. Had he not almost walked over Sakura. A Sakura squatting right by the door and shaken by dry heaves and sobs. Either he was too tired either he was truly losing his touch, but Kakashi did not feel any pity at seeing her shrivelled up on herself, her fingers gripping her pink hair.

On the contrary, something cold and unfeeling was pushing him to hurt her further. For her own good, maybe. Or maybe simply because her actions, though well-meaning and in accordance with his orders, had caused so much trouble that he would have to fix the situation in a way that was repugnant to him. Putting a soft hand on top of her head, he felt her flinching. She knew there was no comfort to be gotten from Kakashi. She had always been the smartest of his pupils.

“The next time you want to break the toys you can’t have, don’t make Naruto do the dirty for you. Report with him as soon as this shitshow is over.”          


End file.
